Aside from his tall frame, his energy fills any room and I’m reminded of the familiar nervous feeling that takes over any time I’m near him. For now, I shove those emotions to the side and remember why I had to invite him here.
“Can I get you something to drink or would you like to take a seat?” I ask.
He smirks and chuckles softly. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.”
He doesn’t have to tell me that, I already know. But I’m terrible at talking to people if it’s not in a professional setting. It’s usually best if I treat situations like this more like a meeting rather than a social conversation.
I hate how strongly I sense his effortless confidence right now. How he always seems so comfortable is beyond me. I wish I could feel that way, but I don’t, and the best thing to do right now is cut right to the chase.
“My boss, Henry Grant, is under the impression that you and I are in a romantic relationship. Along with the rest of the office and most likely the entire town by now, I’m sure. I just wanted you to be aware of that,” I say in a monotone and matter-of-fact voice as if it’s not the most ridiculous thing that’s ever come out of my mouth.
Warren’s face isn’t giving anything away. But he crosses his arms and leans a hip against the kitchen island.
“You tell ‘em I was your boyfriend?”
My knees lock up and my mouth drops open. Surely, he doesn’t actually think I would lie about that to the person that I work for. Or anyone for that matter. I didn’t deny it like I should have, sure, but that’s different.
“No!” I defend myself.
“Well, this makes sense,” he says and nods, running his tongue along his upper teeth. Is he mad? Upset? I half expected him to storm out of here.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean my parents already called me to invite you to dinner,” he laughs.
“Oh for fuck’s sake! I was hoping to get ahead of this.” I spin around so I’m not facing him anymore and start pacing the room, my usual tendency when I need to think. His parents are going to hate me. I was hoping maybe we could keep them out of this.
“This is my fault,” his voice suddenly turns more apologetic. “I brought up the idea of kissing you in front of a shit ton of people at the party and I’m guessing if it wasn’t you that told anyone we were together, they put two and two together on their own.”
“You’re damn right it’s your fault,” I shoot back at him while coming to a stop in front of the window, nibbling my thumbnail. “But I went along with it I guess.”
Contrary to popular belief, staring out of a window in despair does not bring on brilliant revelations. I’m still stuck on my original idea which was to get him on board with embracing the town gossip instead of correcting it.
When I peer over my shoulder at him, he looks to be hiding a grin.
“Okay, here’s the plan. I cannot afford to lose my job and start over again, but it’s not looking good at the moment. Mr. Grant was over the moon about this whole thing and after putting me on probationary terms, it was the first time I’ve seen him approve of me. I think we should keep up the ruse for a while until I’m in a better place with my career.”
“Is that right?” he asks, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. He thinks Iwantthis. “It’d be a lot easier if you just admitted you liked me.”
I stalk toward him, stopping when I’m close enough to see the faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and under his eyes.
Warren is infuriatingly handsome, effortlessly smooth, and charming. He’s friendly and beloved–everything I’m not but need to be if I want to avoid getting canned.
But I don’t want to like him. Liking complicates things. If I let this be anything other than fake, he’d have power over me. I already feel like my control is slipping in every other aspect ofmy life. Feeling devastated when the jig between us is up is not something I can add to the mix and still survive.
He could crush me.
Plus, if Emma found out I liked him but our relationship was a trick of sorts, the humiliation would be unbearable. I’d have to leave town. To wither away in this studio cottage. To have Mesa discover me months from now and say what a shame it was that Savannah Chase died not of a broken heart, but a completely mortified one.
Icannotlike Warren Farrow and this entire idea might be my worst yet. But I’m not above unearthing some vulnerability and begging him for help anyway.
“I cannot afford to lose my job,” I say while looking up at him with a fixed expression. “My feelings or lack thereof for . . .youhave nothing to do with it. I don’t want to get fired and if my boss thinks you see something in me, then it’ll put me in his good graces while I try to prove myself at the firm. If you’ll play along, that’s all the information you need to remember to help you pull it off.”
“Pull it off?” he laughs. The rich sound vibrates around me and I realize now how close we’re standing. “I don’t need any tips on how to make people think that I want you.”
“Right,” I say, trying not to read too far into what he just said.
His chest rises and falls, and I don’t back away. If I took even one tiny step forward, I’d trip right over his boot. His hands move upward and at first, I think he’s going to touch me for some reason, but he pauses and his hands land on his hips.
